I Am Not Resigned
by K. Elisabeth
Summary: "Down, down, down, into the darkness of the grave / Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind." Beckett and Castle attend a funeral. Caskett, oneshot. Not actually related to the finale, despite the timing.


**A/N:** I really don't know where this came from, but once the idea got into my head I couldn't sleep until I had written it out (it's 330 AM as I upload this). Enjoy, and please do let me know what you think!

* * *

_"Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave_  
_Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;_  
_Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave._  
_I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."_

_- Dirge Without Music, Edna St. Vincent Millay_

* * *

"Damn it," Beckett muttered, trying to tame a runaway curl of hair with a bobby pin while holding two more between her lips. She just couldn't seem to grab onto it, it kept sliding between her fingers. Everything here seemed to slip right out of her fingers, for reasons she could not yet understand. She grasped for it again, but this time as she grabbed for the tendril of hair, the ancient radiator in the corner coughed to life and startled her at precisely the wrong moment. She dropped the pin from her hand into the small, white porcelain sink in front of her, watching it disappear down into the drain.

She swore loudly.

"Everything okay?" a voice asked from behind her. She started, whipped around, and found Castle leaned against the doorway into the small bathroom, hands shoved casually into his pockets, shoulders squared but easy.

"Castle, you can't be in here, this is a women's restroom," Beckett chided without really caring.

"Yeah, well, who's gonna know?" he said with his typically easy, devil-may-care affect. "You alright in here?"

"Yes," she said resolutely, then sighed. "No. I can't get…"

"Relax," he said, closing the stretch of black and white checked tile between them in a few short strides. "I got it. I didn't spend years doing Alexis's hair for nothing. Pin-ups, ponytails, braids, French braids, fishtails…" He pulled one of the pins from between Beckett's lips and she smiled despite her shaking hands; he swept the piece of hair out of her eyes and pinned it up effortlessly, deft fingers making quick work of what had taken her ten minutes to fail at.

"Thank you," she said. He took the one remaining pin from between her lips, then leaned in and kissed them.

"You're welcome." She shivered, partly from the contact and partly from the cold. It was so cold here, and she had no jacket. Castle looked smart in his suit and tie, and she reached forward and smoothed the black silk. She squinted at the pattern and realized it was not black and silver paisley, as it had appeared from a distance, but many small spaceships, suns, moons, and stars against the inky night sky. She smirked; of course it would be.

"Fun, right?" he said, looking down at the tie as her fingers trailed down the material.

"Yeah," she said, voice small but somehow amplified in the cavernous room. It was narrow but tall, with two stalls, two unusually small sinks, a broad mirror, and a seat in the corner with cast iron legs and a single smooth, red velvet cushion. That was her favorite kind of cake, red velvet. Why that occurred to her, she didn't really know. There was no cake here, was there?

"You ready?" he asked. She looked down at the floor and smoothed her hands over the black material that bunched around her stomach and waist. That was the way the dress was made, kind of bunchy, but it didn't stop her from trying to smooth it out. Just a habit, reflex. What did it matter? It wasn't a fashion show.

"I… I don't know," she said, biting her lower lip and looking back up at him. Up to his eyes, down to his mouth, back up to his eyes. It was the first inkling she had given to the emotions playing behind her eyes since they arrived.

"Hey," he said, pulling her into his chest. She let her arms snake around his midsection and clasped her fingers loosely behind his back, sinking into his chest with ease and breathing in deeply. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "You don't have to run into everything guns-first, you know. It's okay to be scared sometimes."

"I'm not scared," she said unconvincingly. "It's just…"

"Not the first funeral you've ever been to," he interjected. "And we'll go together. Side by side. Partners."

"Yeah?" she said, raising her head a little so she could look into his eyes properly. He gave a slight nod and kissed her again.

"Always," he said. They rested their foreheads together, her arms laced around his neck, his hands holding the small of her back as easily as if they had been made to fit there. Everything about them was made to fit, it always had been. Why did it take so long to see that? In hindsight, it seemed like so much time was wasted. Not anymore.

"Okay," she said. "I'm ready." He let her go and held out his arm, giving her the same charming smile he had on the first night they'd met.

"Shall we?" he asked, and she laughed—the deep, soothing sound like bells bouncing off the tile walls, then seemingly escaping around the corner, out the door, down the hall and beyond. The acoustics here were unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Sound didn't die, nothing did; it all seemed to reverberate into infinity.

She slipped her arm through his, and they walked out of the bathroom and into the long hallway. The building was entirely tall and narrow, almost crowded. The hallway had a long, embroidered red-and-gold runner straight down the center, and the high walls were covered in portraits and dated scenery paintings. She observed them as they walked towards the double doors at the end—lakeside picnics, mountain ranges shrouded in mist, leggy thoroughbreds carrying uniformed men surrounded by spotted, baying hounds. Was it her imagination, or did all the people in the paintings seem to look like them? Maybe they were just common-looking, but she couldn't help thinking otherwise.

She felt her chest tighten as they approached the heavy oak doors. This was it. Once they opened the doors, it would be real. Nothing would ever be the same. She felt bile rise up in her throat, the sick, acrid taste in the back of her mouth.

"Together, remember?" he said, seeming to notice her tenseness and hesitation. He had always been so calm, even in situations that made Beckett, with all her police training, feel ill at ease. For better or worse, he was unshakeable. It was only by looking into his eyes that she could walk out into the cemetery for Captain Montgomery's funeral. It was only by looking into his eyes that she would be able to push the doors open now.

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath and nodding. "Together." He took the oversized brass doorknob in hand, turned it, and with the permission of the satisfying click of the lock coming undone, pushed it open. Beckett squinted, harsh sunlight overwhelming her senses, and it was only the feeling of Castle's arm hooked through hers that propelled her forward…

"We are gathered here today to pay tribute to the lives of two extraordinary people," Captain Gates began, voice raw and careful. "This precinct will never be the same in their absence. I have never, in all my years on the force, known a team quite as extraordinary as Detective Kate Beckett and Richard Castle. Losing them so abruptly has been a major blow to this entire family, but we can rest, in some way, knowing they died doing what they did best: defending the dead and exalting the truth, together. They will be in our hearts… always."


End file.
